


Croatian Holiday

by Brenda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Sam Wilson, BAMF Natasha Romanov, F/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"So, wait, are you telling me all this was some sort of recruitment?"</i>
</p><p>  <i>"No, it was a test."  She didn't say whether or not he passed.  Sam guessed the fact that he was still breathing was answer enough.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Croatian Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feraldanvers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldanvers/gifts).



Zagreb was a pretty nice city, all things considered. Sam wasn't sure he'd have ever put it on his mental bucket list of Places He Had To Go To Before He Died or anything, but there were certainly worse places to get stuck with an afternoon to himself.

He took a tiny sip of the world's strongest cup of espresso (he was damn near positive it had enough caffeine in it to run a small city), glanced out the window of the small café he'd stumbled across when the claustrophobia of his hotel room had gotten too much to handle. The people he'd met so far seemed nice, it was easy to get around, the food was excellent – and, alright, fine, maybe, just _maybe_ , Sam was a little bit put out that Steve's SHIELD ( _former_ SHIELD) contact wanted to meet Steve alone, but that was just because Sam had gotten used to watching Steve's back. Not because it meant he was all alone in a strange city where he didn't speak the language and didn't know anybody and was just a teensy bit bored.

Maybe he just needed another change of scenery. Steve should be done with his meeting soon, then they could keep following their tenuous leads on Barnes and maybe they'd get lucky and run into some bad guys or something. Sam set his cup back on the table and made a move to slide out of his seat. 

And blinked. Blinked again. 

Natasha Romanov stared back at him, calm and composed and very still. Her hair was honey blonde and pixie-short, and her normally vivid green eyes were now a light shade of blue (Sam was guessing contacts). She had on no makeup that he could see, was wearing a plain black tank top, a nondescript grey jacket at least two sizes too big and baggy green cargo pants pulled low on her hips, and somehow, she _still_ managed to knock him on his ass with how downright amazing she looked.

It had to be one of her special spy gifts or something.

"Steve likes you." She made it sound like the world's sexiest accusation. 

Sam deliberately slouched back in his chair. He'd be damned if he gave her the satisfaction of jumping or asking her what the fuck she was talking about. "Steve likes everyone," he replied. "Is this how you always say hi to people?"

"No." Her hard, inscrutable expression didn't alter. Sam tried not to be so turned on by it. "He _trusts_ you."

Sam frowned. He didn't mind admitting – if only to himself – he was a little lost here. Of course, he had a feeling most people felt like that when trying to have a conversation with the Black Widow, or whatever she was calling herself these days. "Again, this is Steve Rogers we're talking about. Bringing out the best in people is what he does. Forget the enhanced strength and all those leadership qualities, _that's_ his real super power right there."

"You know what I mean."

He really, really didn't. "Do I?"

"He doesn't have many friends. Or people he can count on to have his back. He's got both in you. Don't fuck that up."

"Is this...?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you giving me a shovel talk right now? Is that what this is?"

Her expression still didn't change, but Sam could feel the temperature in the room drop by at least twenty degrees. Which was probably _her_ super power, and it was a damn good, effective one. "Do you want it to be?"

"Frankly, no," he said, and shrugged. He knew what an honor it was that Steve counted him as a friend. And hell, if there had been even a one percent chance that Riley was still alive and out there somewhere, he knew he'd be chasing the same leads all over the world just like Steve was doing for Barnes, and he knew Steve would have his back all the way. But he was pretty sure Natasha knew that already. 

He gestured at her over the small table separating them and prayed he wasn't getting ready to make a fatal mistake. "I've got a beautiful woman sitting across from me who apparently sought out the pleasure of my most excellent company. The last thing I want to talk about right now is Captain America."

Blessedly, the hard mask cracked, and those full, beautiful lips curled into a smile that flirted around the edges of her mouth. "I like you, Wilson."

"The feeling's mutual, Romanov," he replied, with his own smile. He felt like he'd just won the damned lottery. "So, can I buy you a vodka or a cup of coffee or whatever it is you're drinking these days?"

"Maybe later," she said, and shrugged out of her jacket. He tried like hell not to stare below her neckline. "I have a job for you."

He jerked his gaze back to her face. "Do what?"

"A job," she repeated slowly, a woman clearly unused to repeating anything. "Too high profile for Steve, too bread and butter for Clint, so I needed a third option. You in or not?"

Yeah, he was pretty fucking lost. Which was probably done deliberately on her part, because everything she did seemed to be deliberate. "So, wait, are you telling me all this -" he wiggled his fingers at her "- was some sort of recruitment?"

"No, it was a test." She didn't say whether or not he passed. Sam guessed the fact that he was still breathing was answer enough.

"So, uh, when and where is this job taking place?"

"Here and right now. We've already started." She smiled again, this one full-lipped and amused and very, very distracting. "And don't worry, I'll have you back in one piece before Steve even knows you're gone."

"Yeah, I don't exactly feel comforted by that."

"Good." She got to her feet in one smooth motion. "C'mon."

And, he supposed, like most men in Natasha's life, he found himself following her lead like a lost puppy.

***

They walked along the sidewalk in silence for a few minutes. Sam – foolishly, he realized – thought that maybe she'd give him an idea of what they were doing or why he was there or something, but he should have known better. Straight up volunteering information didn't exactly seem to be Natasha's style. Still, he was pretty proud of himself for managing to hold out at least two blocks before he cracked. 

"So, uh, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I kinda thought you'd blown all your covers when we took down SHIELD."

That got him another not-quite grin. "You'd be right."

"Yeah, I'm really not following you here."

She shook her head like she was disappointed he wasn't keeping up. "I did blow all my covers. All the ones SHIELD knew about."

"Ah, gotcha."

Well, now, that...actually made a whole lot of sense. A woman like Natasha was bound to have backup plans with backup plans and fail-safes within fail-safes and identities stashed all over the world that no one else knew about. Spies were in the business of not really trusting anyone, even the agencies they worked for. Which, given what had really been going on with the agency she'd used to work for, was probably a pretty smart call on her part.

"So, uh, what exactly is it that we're doing?"

"Trade jackets with me," she said instead, and held out her hand.

He gave his over without another word, and she shrugged into it, then spent a quick moment running her fingers through her hair, artfully tousling it. Then she expertly (and without a mirror, how did women even _do_ that) put on a coat of cotton-candy pink lipstick that made her lips look even fuller and softer, and tugged her tank top down far enough so Sam could see the lace edges of a purple bra contrasting nicely against porcelain-pale skin. The entire process took under a minute, and made her look...different. Younger. More hipster/punk college student than hardened criminal/spy/killer on a mission. He couldn't find a trace of Natasha Romanov anywhere.

It took him a second to catch his breath.

"How did you...?" He clicked his teeth shut and shook his head. Even if he wanted to know how she did it, he didn't think she'd tell him. Instead, he pulled on the jacket she'd given him, and was mildly surprised to find that it fit him perfectly. He wondered if she'd chosen it on purpose with that in mind. (She probably - no, strike that, she _definitely_ \- had.)

"Now put your hand in mine and pull me close, act like you can't take your eyes off me."

"That's not exactly gonna require acting skills," he said, and it earned him another smile. Her hand was soft in his - no calluses - which surprised him. And she smelled amazing in that way that all women did, floral and sweet and exotic all at the same time. 

They walked a few blocks, hand in hand, heads bent together like they were just a young couple in love on a stroll, then she stopped. "That's what we're doing," she murmured, and tilted her head just slightly in the direction of the Esplanade Zagreb Hotel.

"Having a nooner before your husband gets off work?" he joked. Well, mostly joked. If part of this job required him to get intimate with Natasha, he sure as hell wasn't going to complain. 

The look she gave him was hot enough to melt steel, and calculated enough that he was ready to sink to his knees right then and there. "No, but the thought had occurred to me that it would be a good way to case the place."

Of course she had. He didn't mind admitting to himself that he was disappointed she'd chosen another route. "Who's in there?"

"Naomi Barthel, teacher, physicist and one of Hydra's most valuable assets."

"So...we're, uh, taking her out?"

She shot him a very amused, indulgent look from under her lashes. "No. I wouldn't need you for that."

"Right." He shifted. Cleared his throat. "So why _do_ you need me?"

"Cover," she replied. "We're just here to note who she meets with, that's all. Simple intel."

"And what happens after you get said intel?"

"You really want to know?"

"No, not really," he said, and walked with her across the street and into the hotel. The bar overlooked the lobby, and it was easy enough to snag one of the small tables that faced the elevators and the front desk. They ordered drinks – Natasha simpered through the process, making a show of sitting as close to Sam as possible and deferring to him on everything (frankly, a weird experience), and she didn't move even after the server dropped them off. She'd ordered something frothy and very unlike what he imagined she normally drank, but it seemed suited to the persona she was inhabiting at the moment. 

"How long are we sticking around?" he asked, mostly to keep his brain focused on something that wasn't the soft swell of her breast against his arm.

"If I'm right, under twenty minutes. If not...we'll see."

Right about what, he wanted to ask, but didn't. Again, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Spies, man. He didn't think he'd ever be comfortable in their world, no matter how attractive they were.

Natasha toyed with the straw in her drink – and _damn_ , what her lips were doing to it should be illegal. "So, tell me how the search for Barnes is going."

"You mean you don't already know?"

Her quick, sharp look would have flayed a lesser man, even though her hand was still warm and unmoving in his. "It's called small talk, Wilson. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Right, yeah." He was a grown-ass man acting like a pre-teen boy. So much for self-respect. "It's...going. Steve's frustrated, but trying to hide it, and I think he's worried."

"About Barnes?"

" _For_ Barnes," Sam corrected. "I don't think Steve cares if Barnes wipes the rest of Hydra off the map single-handedly as long as he doesn't eat a bullet once he's done."

"It's a valid concern."

"It is, but my money's on Steve getting to him before that happens." He took a sip of his beer and studied her for a moment. "And what about you? Still figuring out who you want to be?"

"Maybe a little, but a good friend told me that figuring yourself out is a lifelong journey, so I'm not sweating it as much."

"Your friend sounds pretty smart."

She grinned, bright and easy, and his heart thudded loudly in his chest. "He likes to think so."

"That's, uh, good," he replied. She leaned against him again and he inhaled as surreptitiously as he could manage, because for real, she smelled like a damn candy store. Sugar and spice and _everything_ nice and he really needed to get his shit together.

"And you?" she asked, quiet and soft, like she really wanted to know the answer. "Have you found your true calling following Captain America into battle?"

It took him a minute to remember the thread of the conversation. "Nah, following Barnes' trail and taking down Hydra is just a vacation. My real job's still helping people. The good thing about working with Steve is I get to do both."

"Like I said, he trusts you."

"He trusts you, too."

"I never said he had good taste," she chuckled, then stilled. Oh, she was still holding his hand and leaning into him like they were madly in love, but he could tell she was focused on something else entirely. It was scary-hot.

"Found your man?"

"In a manner of speaking." Then she leaned in, brushed a light, lingering kiss across his lips, and smiled, small and quiet. Almost sweet, if he had to label it. "It's been fun, Sam. Let's do this again sometime when we're not both working."

He didn't quite touch his fingers to his lips like a love-struck teen, nor did he chase her taste on his mouth like he wanted (because he really was a mature adult), but he was pretty sure his brain shorted out for a minute. "Uh, yeah, sure, whatever you – hey, wait!" 

But she'd already slipped away from the table and out into the crowded lobby. And even though he knew exactly what she was wearing, he still couldn't find her. He tried to quell the sharp stab of frustration.

Then he belatedly remembered she still had on his jacket. 

Which meant he still had hers. And, unless he was very much mistaken, she'd even managed to ask him out before doing that whole spy-voodoo disappearing thing. Maybe getting stuck on his own wasn't such a bad trade after all. 

 

(Steve just laughed when Sam told him about the encounter later. "Well, her methods are unorthodox, but she gets results."

"Meaning?"

Steve's look was amused and fond in only the way he could manage. "Meaning she didn't need you for the op, Sam. She was vetting you out. And from what you told me, I'd say you passed the test."

Oh. Another test. Which meant...well, Sam didn't want to speculate, but he hoped it meant what he thought it meant.

"Huh," he replied, and grinned, wide and pleased. "How about that?")

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Melle for the great advice and for looking it over. :)
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


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